


Blind Faith

by Lalapazaza (SophinaBlackwood)



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mentions of Edward
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-08 08:04:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11077428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophinaBlackwood/pseuds/Lalapazaza
Summary: Thomas returns from America only to find one of his worst nightmares realised in his absence- the disfiguration of Jimmy Kent.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A little idea that popped into my head. Prepare for major angst.

It was an accident.

Somewhere, Lady Mary was shouting, but Jimmy couldn’t quite make out what she was trying to annunciate. It was all garbled and gibberish to his ear. Jimmy felt foggy and disoriented. He wasn't sure if he was lying down, standing or floating. There was an immense pressure on his face; something forcing itself against his left side.

_Where am I?_

“Oh my god, _Jimmy._ ”

That was Tom Branson’s voice. Why did he sound so distressed?

_Oh, bloody HELL!_

Like a crescendo, pain sheeted through Jimmy, eating him from the inside of his skull, out. Thousands of white hot pokers slammed into the left side of his brain over and over and over and-b _loody flippin’ ‘eck-_ he could barely think. His head hurt so much. Too much. His body hurt too. Everything seemed to burn like molten. Lava churning through his veins. Jimmy heard himself scream bloody murder but the sound was strange and dissonant.

“I don’t know.. I’m not sure how it happened, I-” Lady Mary’s voice was right in his ear as if she was beside him. Why was Lady Mary so close to him? He wasn’t serving her food, or drink. There were hands on him, somewhere. Small, delicate hands. Jimmy’s head spun. There was no reason for Lady Mary to ever _touch_ him.

“Dodgy bullet.” That was Matthew now. “Backfired and he’s copped the shrapnel.”

Bullet? Were they shooting guns? No, wait. Lady Mary wanted to go on a hunt. Jimmy was ordered to assist Matthew. But it shouldn't of been him. It should’ve been Mr. Barrow. Yes, that’s right, except the under butler was currently offshore in America with Lord Grantham so Jimmy had to do it in his stead.

_Thomas.._

“Where is the shrapnel? Where is it?” They were Thomas' words but Jimmy had shrieked them. At least, he hoped the words came out coherently. He moved his hands to his face but wasn't sure if the muscles were complying.

“Use my handkerchief.” Lady Mary again. “Just relax James, try to relax.”

_I am relaxed!_

“Tom, run back to the house and call Dr. Clarkson.”

_There's no need. I’ll be right in a jiffy. Just-_

“Should I alert your Mother? He needs to go to hospital, Mary.“

_Don’t tell Her Ladyship, you dafties, can't you see I’m-_

“Yes, of course. Good idea. She can get the car ready.”

_Car? Hospital?!_ What the bloody hell was going on. He didn't need a car because he was fine. He was dandy. He was-

Jimmy let out a bloody-curdling scream as he felt a pain more excruciating than he'd ever experienced in his entire life. It was as if his face were pressed down against Mrs. Patmore’s gas top and his skin was bubbling and blistering and melting right off and he couldn’t move back off it, he couldn't fight back, he couldn't make it _stop_.

Jimmy thrashed. He wanted to grab the person who was cursing him with this agony and make it stop. If he could just _see_ where they…

“I can’t see,” he realised suddenly, but it wasn't how he heard it in his ear. His throat was twisted up. Something was stuck in it. The words sounded as if he’d gurgled them out. Jimmy coughed and up hacked something warm and viscous.

_Oh god._

Jimmy’s entire world crumbled beneath him. He understood. The shrapnel. The source of the pain. Matthew’s gun backfired and it had hit him in the face.

“ _I CAN’T SEE_.”


	2. Long Journey Home

America had been a dream.

Thomas’ face was perfectly poised as Downton Abbey came into view from the motorcar, though he was grinning on the inside. Lord Grantham was blithering on about how excited he was about seeing Her Ladyship, but Thomas wasn't paying attention. He nodded every so often or made a hum of agreement to pretend like he was.

Secretly, Thomas was excited too. America had reinvigorated him. The country was new and fun and the people uninhibited- if you knew where to acquire alcohol, of course. Harlem had been the best of all. Thomas had attended a masquerade ball, held in an old abandoned theater. Dark and graffitied but full of bright lights, he couldn’t imagine any normal Englishman being content with such a venue. There had been men dancing with men and men dressed as women and people of all different colors mingling and laughing and kissing and dry humping in every alcove. It was the most wonderful, dreamlike place Thomas had ever been in his whole life.

America wasn’t somewhere Thomas could see himself living permanently- somewhere along the way he’d discovered a large part of himself craved the structure and stability of Downton Abbey. He _liked_ being the under butler. One day he would run his own staff- his _own_ downstairs- in a great estate.

Thomas stole a glance to the bazaar to catch a sudden scramble of liveries in the realisation that His Lordship had returned. As the motorcar came to a stop, Thomas disembarked to open the door for his Lord. The Crawleys’ were already making a fuss, but the content of their words didn’t quite reach his ears. Thomas glanced down to his pocketwatch and marvelled to himself that he hadn’t even scoped the area to see where Jimmy was. He _always_ felt the urge to check on Jimmy, no matter where they were.

 _I'm sure Jimmy has got on fine without me,_ Thomas told himself. _Carry on, Mr. Barrow._

From the moment Jimmy walked into the servants hall, the golden boy had filled Thomas’ brain for days, and weeks, and years on end. His hair bright and beautiful, his lips like they were chiselled out of marble. Thomas never stopped hoping for the impossible. Since he made the conscious mistake of pushing into Jimmy’s room and bending over him in his sleep. Since he let his kidneys be punched and bleed out for a chance to earn back Jimmy’s friendship. And they had been friends. Good friends. But Thomas still loved him. Unconditionally. Unendingly. Dreams of Jimmy continued to haunt him. Jimmy peppering his jawline with terribly gentle kisses. Jimmy whispering _Thomas,_ ghosting beside his ear. Jimmy straddling Thomas on the piano bench, right there in front of the entire gaping staff. Dream Jimmy didn’t care if the entire world knew about them. Because Dream Jimmy loved Thomas back.

Thomas hadn't dreamed of Jimmy once since Harlem. He had been effectively divorced from false hopes. _I'm cured_ , he had thought, as the source of morning erections had been men he’d spent nights with in New York- not Jimmy. He was going to return to Downton with Jimmy at his left as his best mate, and Baxter to his right, whispering secrets in his ear. And Thomas would be completely focused on moving up the chain of command, using any information he could to his benefit.

“How was it?” Molesey asked eagerly, wandering up to the side of the motorcar.

“Interesting,” Thomas replied ambiguously. “Very modern. Very interesting.” He unpacked the boot and gestured the luggage to Molesley. “Hurry up, then.”

Once his immediate duties were done, Thomas headed back out to the bazaar. The high striker game caught his attention, and he smirked to himself at how Jimmy would probably enjoy something like that. He’d bring down the hammer and ring the bell, then use it as an excuse to brag about his strength for the next week, flashing that dazzling golden grin. Molesley was currently having a go, with Baxter watching on. Thomas wandered over, lighting a cigarette as his shoes crunched over the grass.

“So, Miss. Baxter,” he greeted lowly, deliberately standing beside her, but facing the other direction. “Anything to tell me about life since I’ve been away?” She turned to him, brows creased, completely non-affected by Thomas’ calm, vaguely threatening demeanour. Which was.. odd.

“You don’t know,” Baxter said in wonder, “No-one’s told you.”

“Told me what?” Thomas’ voice deepened seriously.

“I-” Baxter cut off, blinking and steeling herself. “You’d have a mind to go straight to the garrets, Mr. Barrow.” She glanced to Molesley, who met Thomas’ eye with his usual blank gaze.

“You mean Jimmy?” Molesey asked lamely.

Thomas felt colour drain from his already pale face, pit of his stomach swirling with an awful sense of dread. It had been a couple of hours since he returned and hadn’t seen Jimmy once. That was unusual. That was not right.

“What’s happened to him?” Thomas shouted, but didn’t wait for an answer as he turned sharply, all but running back towards the house.

 

* * *

 

Mrs. Hughes was leaning against one of the doors in bachelor’s corridor. She whipped her neck at the sound of Thomas stumbling into the hall, panting loudly and heart pounding. He was hot and sweaty from taking the servants stairwell three at a time. His quads and calves burned unhappily but he didn’t stop until he reached the door and looked inside.

Reality crashed all around him. A man lay on the bed, asleep, bandages wrapped around his eyes. He was completely still, aside from the tender rise and fall of his chest. _Jesus Christ._ Thomas’ stomach dropped and a freezing shiver ran right up his spine. They weren’t in Downton Abbey any more. This was the Cottage Hospital. The sounds, the temperature, the _smell._

“Edward?” Thomas choked, crawling out of his own skin.

“Edward?!” Mrs. Hughes echoed, puzzled.

But Edward was dead. Edward Courtenay, poor Edward Courtenay who didn’t deserve his fate and was stolen from Thomas’ care. Edward with his warm hands and handsome, angular features. Thomas could feel Edward’s hand against his thigh, and his own fingers over top. Edward’s thumb bravely stroking the flesh of his wrist where no-one would notice. The warmth of it. The softness. The cautious, nervous pulse in his thumb that shook Thomas to the very core.

Thomas hadn’t thought of Edward for _years_ \- not since... But it was all back, all there, the feelings as visceral and real as the day Edward took his life. Thomas had been prepared to give his life to Edward. Be his carer. His partner. Eventually his lover. Thomas would’ve found a way. For Edward.

Only, it couldn’t be Edward, because the man in the bed was clutching a deck of cards. Tightly clasped, despite his unconscious state. Jimmy’s lucky deck of cards.

That was Jimmy.

“ _No!_ ” Thomas cried out, voice strangled. He was back in the bachelor’s corridor, somehow against the opposite wall across Jimmy’s room, shivering against the wall. He didn’t even remember stumbling back. Like he blacked out for a second. His knees shook and buckled under him.

“Mr. Barrow, what has gotten into you?” Mrs. Hughes demanded, though her tone was empathetic. She thought he was overreacting. But she didn’t know the long of it. She had never met, nor even knew about Edward. She also wasn’t privy to Sybil being one of his only friends, before she also passed on.

“Everyone I care for either dies or has misfortune cast on them,” Thomas said, pushing his gloved hand against his eyes. Tears spilled out of him. He always did this. He always fucking cried. He _hated_ it. So bloody lavender. So bloody _fucking_ lavender. “It’s me. I did this to him.”

“You did not. You weren’t even in the country,” Mrs. Hughes reprimanded. She grasped Thomas by his sleeves to right him vertically, and he couldn’t help a sad smirk at the fact that it always seemed to be Mrs. Hughes who caught him in such a state. Always the one to extend a compassionate hand, despite all the disrupt he’d caused over the years.

Mrs. Hughes sighed and raised her eyebrows, her features soft. “Mr. Barrow I think it best you take a few moments to clean yourself up.” She moved a hand around his back to will him forward. “Come on now.”

Thomas was led towards the bathroom like a lifeless marionette. He felt trapped within his own body and yet it was as if his mind were floating outside of himself. He stared forward but all he could see was Jimmy. Jimmy with Edward’s mustard gas scars. Jimmy with milky eyes, staring in Thomas’ direction but not _seeing_ him.

Thomas’ stomach churned nauseatingly and he scrambled to one of the basins, hands gripped around the ceramic to the point of agony. He had done this. There was no logic to it but he knew god had broken Jimmy to chastise him. Jimmy’s face was destroyed.

Jimmy was ruined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Thanks for the comments so far :)


	3. Sleeping Beauty

Thomas was rubbish on boats. Not that he’d taken many in his lifetime, but it were always horrible.

The under butler had been looking forward to a good night’s sleep on solid ground after seven nights on that godforsaken ship from America, but no matter his exhaustion, he couldn't drift off. He couldn't stop thinking about Jimmy. It was laughable, really. On the way home he’d barely thought about Jimmy at all. Now, it seemed ten times worse than it was even before he left.

It was difficult to force himself not to think about the future. About the possibly of Jimmy not being able to work. And what if he couldn’t go back to being first footman? Thomas could probably persuade Matthew to buy a small flat in the village- since it was his fault Jimmy’s life was now ruined. Thomas wouldn't live there, no, that’s not what he was suggesting.. but he would faithfully go every day that Jimmy needed him. He’d save up for a piano. A better one than the keyboard in the servants hall.

Jimmy could still make music even if he were…

Thomas rolled over and groaned into his pillow. He wanted to kick himself. How could he have been so proud to have not asked about Jimmy the moment he was back at Downton? Jimmy. His best mate. His only mate, really. What a terrible friend Thomas was.

Most of the story had been told over dinner. Everyone had a slightly different version, but the key events were clear. On a hunt, Matthew’s gun had backfired, and the shrapnel hit Jimmy in the eyes. He’d already had a surgery, since he was taken straight to the hospital (though no-one knew the specifics, and Thomas nearly clocked Molesley as he wondered if they had _removed_ both of Jimmy’s eyes. Dr. Clarkson would never be so reckless to ruin a man’s life like that… Thomas prayed). Jimmy had been at home for two days before Lord Grantham and Thomas made their surprise return. The family had decided to not ruin Lord Grantham’s trip by telling him in advance (which made Thomas’ blood boil). According to Alfred, Jimmy was still in and out of consciousness, and had been mostly unresponsive since the accident, which didn’t seem right to Thomas at all.

At 4.30 in the morning, before dawn had cracked the skyline, Thomas couldn't handle it anymore and shrugged a coat over his pyjamas, slipping across the hall.

Thomas nearly jumped out of his own skin when he saw someone else was also in Jimmy’s room. Of all people, it was Lady Mary.

“Sorry, M’Lady, I didn’t realise...” Thomas felt himself straighten up on impulse. His voice failed when Lady Mary didn’t notice him immediately. She was starting at the bed where Jimmy slept. Thomas let his eyes glance over to him, but he felt uncomfortable while someone from above his station was present. Belatedly, Lady Mary looked over to him and Thomas’ eyes widened as he saw _nothing_ in hers.

“No,” she realised, voice low and emotionless. “Of course you wouldn’t.” She was in her dressing gown, hair slept in and over her shoulder, face unpainted. Somehow she seemed more gaunt than usual. Her gaze returned to Jimmy and Thomas’ felt the muscles in his face tense oddly. Thomas held his tongue professionally, though he was desperate to ask what happened. What _actually_ happened.

“It was me,” Lady Mary answered his thoughts, unprompted.

“M’Lady?”

“It was me,” she repeated. “I wanted to shoot the gun. Matthew says it wasn’t my fault. He says I shot perfectly, but the bullet was..” She trailed off and leaned forward in the chair to place her hand over Jimmy’s. Thomas closed his fist so tightly his nails bit the palm. “Even if he’d shot it, Matthew, the shrapnel still would have hit James”

Thomas clenched his teeth. This shouldn’t have happened. Not to Jimmy. It never should of happened. The war was over. Why now. Why bloody now? “And then?” he asked, “After he was...”

“We took him straight to the hospital,” Lady Mary continued, her hand slipping away from Jimmy and she placed it elegantly on her knee. Thomas released a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. “A globe rupture in the left eye, was Dr. Clarkson’s analysis. There was nothing he could do, so they removed it.” Lady Mary’s own eyes were distant, as if she were focused on nothing at all.

“Removed it?” Thomas whispered.

“Yes. Dr. Clarkson says prosthetic eyes are quite convincing these day, for the right price. Papa will foot the bills, of course. I couldn’t allow James to suffer like that, on top of everything else. ”

Thomas had to turn his head, a white hot fury burning inside him. Of course the Lady was acting _benevolent_ when she shouldn’t have been so stupid to fire the bloody thing in the first place. He moved to the fireplace, and forced his bad hand into the mantle to try distract his anger.

“Such a waste,” Lady Mary said lifelessly, “He was so handsome, truly.”

Thomas screwed his face up to force tears back, teeth clenched painfully. He could barely keep his cool. He wished it had been her. He genuinely wished with all his heart that it had been Lady Mary who was shot. Or Matthew. It should be one of them lying on that bed with their face all wrapped up. It should be them who had their eye removed.

They had mutilated the face of the most wonderful person on earth. Someone who wasn’t born blessed with riches and an easy life, but should have. Jimmy was royalty to Thomas. And yet it was that stupid spoiled brat who’d gone and…

Thomas thoughts ceased as he noticed something strange. On the mantle was a set of morphine syringes, enough for four days. But there was only enough medication left for half a day. His heartbeat suddenly raced.

“If I may speak out of turn..” The shake in Thomas’ voice was evident as he glanced over his shoulder.

“Speak, Barrow.”

“Why has Ji- James' morphine supply been nearly exhausted.”

“Oh,” Lady Mary swivelled in her chair to look at him, “I feel so terribly guilty. I wish James no pain. Dear Sybil taught me to perform the injections, when I looked after Matthew after the war.”

_You daft, daft bitch._

“I’ve seen too many good men succumb to opium addiction, M’Lady. I’d very much like Jimmy to not traverse the same path.” Somehow, Thomas’ voice was measured. No wonder Jimmy hadn’t regained full consciousness, he’d been doped up for days and days on end.

Lady Mary’s eyes widened, and she seemed to understand. Thomas’ stare was intense, and he sensed her fear.

“The maids will be rising soon,” Thomas swallowed.

“Yes, I’d better slip away.” She looked back to Jimmy one more time as she stood, then paused at the door. “Are you close?”

The thump in Thomas’ ears changed key, from fear to heartache. He could barely keep her gaze as he uttered, “Yes, M’Lady. My best friend, as a matter of fact.”

Lady Mary nodded thoughtfully. “I’d be wise to leave him to you then.”

“Thank you, M’Lady.”

Once Thomas was safely alone with Jimmy, he pressed his hand over his eyes and suppressed a strange sounding sob.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered to the sleeping man, voice cracking under the weight of the world.

 

* * *

 

Flicking ash into the tray on Jimmy’s bedside table, Thomas scanned the broadsheet for any interesting stories. Jimmy never liked the political articles, and neither did Thomas, really. He relaxed back into the chair in which the ghostly Lady Mary had sat that morning and stretched his toes in his socks. He really needed to go and see the cobbler next time he was in town, he couldn’t remember his feet aching _this_ badly after a day’s work. Of course, Carson didn’t care if your heels blistered and bled as long as the leather was shiny.

 _Ah._ A headline caught his eye on page six.

“Here we go Jimmy,” Thomas said, straightening the paper and crossing a leg over the other. “ _Long Island Mermaid Sues Court to Upset Bathing Suit Ruling._ The indignation that fired 17-year old Norma Mayo last summer when she was arrested for appearing on the streets of Sayville in a bathing suit had not cooled through the long winter months.” Thomas smiled to himself as Sybil played the part of Norma in his mind, flashing a brilliantly modern bathing suit to the horror of Lord and Lady Grantham.

“Today with another not far distant bathing season in mind, she appeared in the supreme court with her lawyers to try and upset her conviction by Justice of the Peace,” Thomas continued, pausing to breathe in his cigarette. “Although the justice let her off with a suspended sentence last summer, he warned her,” Thomas deepened his voice in mockery, “ _Never, never do it again_ and she has a perfectly stunning swimsuit for this season. After her lawyers had denounced the stern old ordnance, Justice Smith took the case under advisement.”

He unfolded the paper where it was halved and eyed a full length photograph of the woman. “She’s quite pretty, Jimmy,” he said with a smile, “Showing her legs too. What a dolt. Made a scene, now London to bloody Newcastle has seen her scantily.”

 _Shite, I would too if I had pins like that_ , Thomas heard Jimmy in his mind. He snorted.

“You _would_ ,” Thomas agreed and for a moment it was as if Jimmy was there with him, not wrapped up like hell on his bed. Sometimes, Thomas thought Jimmy looked more like a painting than a real man. Even now, his skin glowed golden. Thomas hissed as his cigarette stub nipped his fingers and he creased it into the ashtray.

“I’m not sure what they’ll do,” Thomas talked, just to fill the silence. “Carson’ll expect Alfred to step up, though I barely think he can handle it. His cutlery were all a quarter of an inch off tonight- disaster. I had to re-set the whole bloody table for him. I think he’s a little depressed though. I can tell he misses you. Who can blame ‘im. We all do.” Thomas’s tone lowered. “You’re very popular downstairs. Feels like Daisy asks about you every hour, not much for me to enlighten her with, though. Ivy’s in a right state. She wants to see you but Mrs. Patmore won’t let her. Mrs. Hughes neither. Obviously, for the best. I can’t trust that Ivy as far as I’d throw her not to become a hysterical mess if she saw the state you’re in right now.”

Jimmy stirred, and Thomas’ eyes suddenly widened, holding his breath. He leaned forward, a fist pressed against his mouth anxiously. Jimmy’s bottom lip pulled as he clenched his muscles and tried to shift his position in bed. It was probably a subconscious act, but still...

“Jimmy?” Thomas whispered, heart near about to pound out of his chest.

“Mr... Barrow?” Jimmy asked, hoarsely. Thomas was amazed.

“Jimmy. _Jimmy._ ”

“Blimey. Can’t see a darn thing.” Jimmy was groggy and his voice grainy from not being used for a week, but he was actually registering the world around him (now that he wasn’t high on Lady Mary’s dosage of painkillers).

“We’re in your room. Just relax, Jimmy.” _Please. Please be still. Don’t exert yourself._

“Light a match or something, will ya?” Jimmy said and Thomas laughed sadly. Even in his state... “What time is it? Why are yo- _argh.. FUCK_.” As his voice rose, Jimmy’s hand shot out to vice around Thomas’ wrist. Thomas stared at it, Jimmy’s fingers achingly hot on his skin. “Oh _god_ , Thomas, that bloody hurts!”

“I’m right here, mate. Right beside you.” Thomas trembled at the triggering deja vu. It was too much like Edward. Not exactly, but so similar. _Be there for Jimmy,_ he chastised. _Don’t let him down, you useless coward._ “I’m not leaving you.”

Jimmy’s gasped for air as if he were drowning, stomach rising and falling sharply. His grip didn’t loosen on Thomas, hand going purple and numb. Then, Jimmy cried out, but the sound strangled and mutilated in his throat in a way that made Thomas’ hair stand on end. Thomas clenched his fist and tried not to think about the trenches. The soundtrack of men dying...

“Jimmy,” Thomas whispered and squeezed his eyes shut.

“I remember. Thomas, _they shot me._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me to me: im not going to write melodrama  
> also me: writes this


	4. Stairway of Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning in this chapter for non-consensual groping. Otherwise, enjoy!

Jimmy had been walking for such an awfully long time.

The forest towered on either side of him, bark peeling at pale, narrow trunks, revealing autumn hues of yellow and orange underneath. Thousands of spires, stretching into the overcast sky overhead. Always overcast, but never a drop of rain. Despite the dry, crisp air, the path was damp and muddy. He was in his livery, but his leather shoes and the hems of his slacks had long been ruined, a squelch to accompany every step.

Jimmy wasn’t quite sure where he was headed to. The trees were unfamiliar, and definitely not like the kind around Downton, or even what he remembered of York. The path was unending and it seemed as if he’d been walking for days. There was never any clearing, or even a felled trunk to sit on, but Jimmy kept on going as if his life depended on it- and perhaps it did- determined and exhausted at the same time.

After a time, Jimmy looked down, and he was walking on giant playing cards. Had he always been walking on these? He remembered these cards. These were his cards, but they’d been blown up or he’d been shrunk down. The path of cards stretched and winded and loop-de-looped into the far distance. On either side was nothing, a malevolent pit of nothingness he knew to avoid, chest twisting anxiously. Jimmy concentrated on the cards beneath his bare feet instead. Seven of hearts, two of spades, the Joker…

As Jimmy stepped onto the Jack of Diamonds, the picture on the card rose up from the paper. Only it wasn’t the Jack, it was a woman, ethereal and pure like a John Singer Sargent painting. Jimmy was drawn to her, and the woman’s lips curved up into a smile. He placed a hand at her waist, where her sheer dress billowed and he lead her into a jaunty waltz, letting the path of cards take them up and up into the clouds. Jimmy heard his own laugh in his ears, and in that moment he couldn’t remember feeling so joyous and carefree in a long, long time.

They continued to spin and glide, up and up, and it was wonderful, and Jimmy was _happy_. He wished he could dance forever. It was so much better than walking. Better than working. Maybe he would not have to return to Downton. Jimmy smiled at the girl and she grinned back. He held her closer and she sighed blithely beside his ear.

“ _Jimmy_ ,” she whispered his name like a prayer, kissing him gently against the lobe.

“Who are you?” Jimmy sighed, sliding back into their waltz.

She did not answer, but she made him feel warm, and safe. When Jimmy danced, not a thing in the awful world could harm him.

It felt as if they’d danced for eons, and when Jimmy began to tire, he spotted a wooden bench on the horizon, guiding them straight for it. He twirled the girl made from the cards as he collapsed down onto the bench, and she burst apart into fireflies which buzzed away in the darkness, under a full moon. Jimmy let out a content sigh and closed his eyes, just for a moment, allowing himself to relax in the balmy night air. It was so lovely to not be walking anymore. It was nice to just be still.

When Jimmy opened his eyes he could see the silhouette of Downton in the not too far distance. _Ah._ This was the bench on the path back to the Abbey. It’s lights sparkled like fireworks, as did the stars in the crystal clear sky. The trees were backdropped by a red glowing hue, and the moon a grand gold colour, which caught on his complexion and made it glitter. Somehow the atmosphere was comforting and normal, even though he knew it was a queer sight.

Jimmy looked over his right shoulder to see someone sitting right next to him. “Oh, hello Ivy,” he said, relaxing into his natural smirk. Her thigh was pressing beside his, so he supposed she had been sitting next to him the whole time. He wondered why she was here.

“I had such a wonderful time tonight,” Ivy said, fiddling with her hair nervously.

“Well, that's dandy, innit,” Jimmy nodded- or tried to nod- then tried to move his hand, or his leg, but couldn’t. _Hang on..._

“So wonderful,” Ivy repeated, leaning in to kiss him. One of her hands snaked around his shoulders, the other on his thigh. It was terribly brazen of Ivy. Completely unlike her at all. Jimmy’s lips replied, even though he didn’t completely want to. Even though the sensation was starting to make him sick to his stomach.

“Ivy,” Jimmy muttered into her mouth, hoping she would stop. She didn’t, pressing in deeper, removing his newsy cap to run her fingers through his hair. “Ivy,” he said again, strained.

“So wonderful,” she said, and Jimmy grew more and more horrified. Terror spread throughout his body, grounding him. He was frantically hit with a sudden wave of clarity. This wasn’t real. He had been dreaming this whole time. The unending forest. The suspended walkway of cards. The dancing girl. This Ivy. None of it real. He was either dreaming or hallucinating. Jimmy’s heart raced, and he struggled with his body but he wouldn’t move- _couldn’t move.._

Jimmy’s eyes snapped open and someone was standing behind Ivy, watching them miserably.

“Thomas!” Jimmy cried out. The moonlight shifted, spilling over Barrow’s handsome, pale face. He took a shuddering breath, looking utterly crestfallen. No, but Jimmy didn’t want this. He didn’t want Ivy. _Don’t just stand there, you big git!_

Ivy’s hand slid higher up his thigh and over the swell in Jimmy’s pants. He groaned uncomfortably, begging his body to listen to him. “ _Ngh-_ stop, Ivy. _Get off me_!”

Ivy paused, blinking, and Jimmy was petrified to find that she was no longer human. More like a marionette or ventriloquist’s doll, two dark vertical lines on either side of her mouth. Her bottom lip and chin fell open with a crack and didn’t move, but her voice spilled out, “I’ve been good to you, Jimmy.”

 _Oh hell_. Jimmy knew this scene. A nauseating pang struck deep in his stomach, guilty over coming onto Ivy after the flick without her consent. Was this his mind’s idea of retribution?

“I’ve been polite, I’ve been doting. I turned down Alfred for you. I’ve never let any boy get this close to me before,” the marionette Ivy said and her neck went slack, tilting her head as if she were imploring him. But she looked horribly uncanny and Jimmy wanted to run far, far away.

“Oh, _god_ ,” Jimmy moaned as Ivy kneaded his groin. He glanced to Thomas, who had his arm outstretched, eyes desperate. “Move, damn you!” He yelled it to his own limbs, heart hammering in his chest as Ivy’s wooden fingers fiddled with the clasp of his slacks.

“It’s dishonest to turn down a lady who’s willin’ and giving her nothin’ in return...”

With a thunderous grunt, Jimmy managed to unhinge a hand from his knee and grabbed Thomas’ outstretched one. He squeezed his eyes shut, and found himself panting, as if he’d been carrying coal to and from the fireplaces all morning. When Jimmy opened his eyes, it was daylight. Thomas was beside him, their hands clasped together tightly. Jimmy let out a tiny noise and felt something flip in his chest, a wild sensation shooting against his ribs. There was an even more distressing burn low in his abdomen. When he glanced up to meet Thomas’ eye, the man was not looking back at Jimmy, but staring forward intently, utterly engrossed with something else.

“Mr.. Barrow?” Jimmy followed his gaze and the reality of where they were was crushing. They were at the edge of a small forest clearing near to Downton, where the family liked to shoot ducks. Jimmy suddenly felt a hundred pounds heavier, his muscles straining under the sheer gravity. Was this weight regular? Or had he just been lucid and floating up until this point?

“Terribly bad luck,” Lady Mary said. Jimmy focused to find Lady Mary was standing about 50 feet away but her voice was as crisp as if she were right next to them. She cocked her head, and gave a sly smile to Matthew, beside her.

Matthew sighed irritatedly. “Why must you insist on making me feel so small? I hardly see you doing one better.”

Lady Mary straightened, slightly offended but also accepting of the implied challenge. Three shots fired in the far distance and a small speck plummeted down behind the fir trees. “You’ve never allowed me the opportunity to,” she implored.

“Mary, you can’t be serious.”

But, _oh_ , Lady Mary was _always_ serious. “Well? Go on,” she said, holding out her hands to take the gun.

“No,” Matthew said firmly. Jimmy begged him to stay stalwart. Do not give Lady Mary the gun.

Lady Mary returned him a look.

“Fine,” Matthew gave in far too easily. Jimmy deflated and Thomas’ eyes widened, tightening the grip on their clasped hands.

“ _Please_ ,” Thomas whispered, shutting his eyes. His tone broke Jimmy’s heart.

Matthew motioned his hands and, _fucking hell_ , an _other_ Jimmy sprung forward from a haversack of shooting gear and small picnic basket of snacks and drinks. The other Jimmy promptly handed Matthew two new shells to load the gun with. “James, not a whisper of this to Lord Grantham,” he said lowly.

“Very good, sir,” other Jimmy said, taking a few steps away and clasping his hands behind his back. He smirked with anticipation when Matthew passed the loaded gun to Mary.

Real Jimmy felt ill and torn up. “ _No, no, no, no_ ,” he cried out, trying to run forward but whipped back. Thomas’ wouldn’t budge with their hands together. “Thomas, get off me! I have to save him. _Move Jimm-_ ”

It happened so fast. As soon as the gun fired, other Jimmy cried out sickeningly and his skull snapped back, collapsed backwards into the grass. Blood covered his face at a sickening rate, so quickly that it was impossible to tell where the wounds were, and how bad.

“Help, dear lord, someone, HELP!” Mary screamed, shaking her head with fear. Matthew had the wherewithal to tear the gun from her hands to make it seem like he was the shooter.

“Oh my god, _Jimmy_.” On cue, there was Branson’s voice, but it was from behind them, and Jimmy turned around, gasping. He had to shield himself with his free hand as Branson charged right for them, but the former chauffeur passed right through them as if he and Thomas were phantoms. Jimmy's heart raced like it would break free of his chest.

“I’m not real,” he realised, though the sensation of wanting to throw up felt bloody real. “Thomas, we’re not-” But Jimmy’s voice eroded away as he saw the state Thomas was in. Perfectly silent, but eyes wide and mouth slightly parted, two thick streams of tears slipping over his alabaster cheeks. “Thomas..”

Other Jimmy yelled out in pain again, but this time it was more like a moan, vulnerable and chilling. Lady Mary fell to her knees beside other Jimmy to sit him up onto her thighs, blabbering some nonsense. Other Jimmy was bleeding everywhere, staining his livery, spilling over the grass, soaking into Lady Mary’s dress. Matthew was inspecting the gun and deduced that it was a faulty shell. Other Jimmy tried to say something, but his voice didn’t come out right- and how could it, when his throat was clogged with blood.

Jimmy couldn’t stand to witness it anymore, wishing the dream to be over. He turned to cower into Thomas’ breast, but the forest clearing stretched out, becoming impossibly large. The hunting group and other Jimmy were gone, and the real Jimmy- if he could call himself that- toppled forward.

“You’re close,” Thomas said, letting go of his hand, and Jimmy whined at the sudden freeze that enveloped his body.

“Don’t leave me,” Jimmy implored, reaching out his arm, but Thomas was already too far out of reach. There was nothing to hold onto at all.

“I’m won’t. I’m wating,” Thomas promised him, and he was gone.

Jimmy continued to tumble into the pitch blackness. Falling, falling, until the weight of something pressed up against his back. Firm, but slightly soft. Uncomfortable, and familiar. The smell… This was his room. He was in his cot. But it was still all _black._ _Oh hell_ , why was this part so much worse than the parts of his dream before? His whole body ached and was stiff, just like when he’d been back on the bench with the nightmarish Ivy. But this was somehow worse. As parts of the dream began to crumble away, slipping through his memory, Jimmy realised this reason this part was worse was because it was _real_. He was awake.

Jimmy’s first instinct was to run, he had to move- had to get out of here...

“Jimmy?”

His heart went still. Jimmy opened his mouth but his throat felt dry and raw, as if it hadn’t been used in days.

“ _Mr.. Barrow_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream sequences are weird.


	5. The Bitter Truth

It took one day of absolute hysterics for Jimmy to realise his doomed situation, and three days to calm down after that. 

The days were long. _Everyone_ annoyed him. He complained whenever anyone dared to enter his room. Which also that meant no one was brave enough to keep his company through the excruciating hours. Jimmy had never felt so scared and isolated in his life. He knew he shouldn’t be so cruel to everyone when they cleaned the pus collecting under his head wraps or spoon feed him like a lame child or had the dreadful task of helping him piss. But he was.

“Bugger off,” Jimmy yelled to Carson, who’d arrived to make note his condition, which he did twice a day.

“James, I understand you're wrestling with a difficult situation, but I shall not tolerate such language, and certainly not to your superior!” Carson fumed before slamming the door. Any other day that would’ve got Jimmy thrown out of Downton by the scruff of his neck. At least this time he had a decent excuse to be crabby. 

Everyone else was in for a screaming at to piss off or shut up. Jimmy didn’t want lukewarm lemon tea carefully poured into his lips by Mrs. Hughes, even though it was a salve on his rusty throat. He couldn’t stand when Alfred visited, standing in the threshold of the doorway to string together a few mumbled awkward sentences, wait for a response, not get one, then leave. The worst was Bates, acting so bloody saintly and understanding because _he_ was crippled.

“It’s going to be a right shock at first, but we’ll get you reintegrated, you’ll see. I’ll personally make sure of it,” Bates said, while Jimmy imagined throwing himself out of the attic window. “Of course,” he went on, “It will be a blessing for you with modern medicine, staff with training, and a common ear-”

“Shut up,” Jimmy bellowed, “ _Shut up, shut up, shut up!!_ ” He continued to yell until Bates had not other choice but to leave.

Jimmy was not and was never going to be crippled so there was no reason for Bates to try be chummy with him.

Most bizarre of all, Lady Mary visited once a day, but Jimmy couldn’t yell at her so he pretended to sleep (an easy feat when no one could see your eyes). She went on and on about her guilt and how the family was doing everything they could and how very sorry she was indeed. 

_I know it was you_ , Jimmy thought bitterly, _I know what you did to me._

It was a blessing for Lady Mary that he was so weak- that he could barely move- because he would have jumped right out of the cot to strangle her then and there.

From then on, Jimmy stayed mostly silent during the days, then wept in agony through the night as he slipped in and out of consciousness. The darkness he now lived in- unending and all consuming. Jimmy’s other senses were already trying to compensate, now able to recognise the gait of every individual who walked down the hall. Alfred’s clumsy footsteps. Thomas’ clean, precise stride. Every click of a door. Even the different types of birds, when their songs reached his window. He’d counted twenty-six individual types so far, which was many, many more than he would have assumed.

The worst was his sense of touch. His fingers were so _sensitive_ now. Every touch against his hand or shoulder frightened him into wakefulness. It was awful. He hated being touched when he couldn’t see it coming, even before they wrapped his head with bandages. When Jimmy was conscious, he played with his deck of cards to distract himself, cathartically cutting the deck over and over and over until his fingers hurt and he drifted back to sleep.

The only person who wasn’t wholesomely frustrating was Thomas. Firstly, he was the only one who would announce his presence before touching Jimmy. Then he would re-wrap Jimmy’s head dressing before sitting at his bedside to smoke and read through the paper. He didn’t seem to mind that Jimmy didn’t actively respond, as he lay there miserably, whole body aching with cramps. Jimmy’s morphine hallucinations had all but disappeared into the darkness, but Thomas’ appearances remained untainted in his memory. That profile, angular nose and slightly parted flushed lips. His wide grey eyes as he hopelessly watched Jimmy be shot. Jimmy clenched his jaw as his cheeks felt hot at the thought.

Why had Thomas come to him in his hallucinations? Jimmy had realised at the time that it wasn’t real, which was the only reason why he didn’t tear his hand away when Thomas entwined their fingers. Jimmy’s his heart twisted in strange ways when he remembered it. It made him nervous. Two men to stand there like that in front of people, even if they’d been invisible. It gave him the same deep gut reactions as when Lady Anstruther made passes at him for the first time. Jimmy shivered.

Truly, the morphine was really messing him up. 

“Dr. Clarkson will be here tomorrow to remove the bandages and make an assessment,” Thomas said on the fifth night, water lapping in the far end of the room to clean his hands after changing Jimmy’s head gauze. Next to his thigh, Jimmy ran a finger down the edge of his cards nervously. His heart beat furiously as he made the conscious decision to make contact.

“Did they really take me eye out?” Jimmy croaked. It was the first thing he hadn’t yelled or grumbled in four days. He could hear Thomas inhale, probably shocked that Jimmy was responding.

“Yes,” Thomas confirmed his fear coolly, after a pause. 

Jimmy screwed his lips together and turned his head away, neck unhappily stiff from the motion. He’d been denying it since he first overheard Carson speaking to Mrs. Hughes in the hallway. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. How was Jimmy expected to live with one eye? He’d coasted by most of his life by his good looks and intuitive amount of charm. If Downton threw him out, Lady Anstruther wouldn’t take him back. Who else would hire a half-blind footman? Jimmy was destined for the bloody paddocks, pulling weeds or harvesting grain. If not, a beggar on the streets.

Jimmy clutched onto his deck of cards, utterly disturbed.

Thomas must have finished up his third cigarette because his fingernails tapped against the glass ashtray, and after a moment, the comforting warmth of the aroma was gone. Jimmy didn’t want one for himself, his throat was rusty and dry enough already- it was agony to move his arm that much anyway. Still, he craved the scent because.. because it meant Thomas was there, and those were the only times Jimmy didn’t feel so alone. Thomas understood him. Didn’t expect him to be anything more than he was.

Jimmy sucked in a shaky breath, and closed his hand into a fist. He wished Thomas to hold it again, just as he had in his hallucination. Jimmy craved closeness, even though the desperate desire to hold hands with Thomas- the same person who’d assaulted him in his sleep- made him sick to his stomach. But, who was to know if anyone would find him attractive again, and Thomas still loved him, right? He surely would still be able to remember the way he looked before. Or perhaps even Thomas would gag at the sight of him, once the bandages came off.

Jimmy grit his teeth- guilt-stricken and completely at odds with himself.

“I want to be alone,” Jimmy lied.

Thomas shifted in his seat. “Alright,” he said, softly. “Goodnight Jimmy.”

“Goodnight.”

And Jimmy was alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more I think about it, the more terrifying Jimmy's situation would be. Poor Jimmy :(
> 
> Loving your comments so far. Please let me know what you think!!


	6. Buried Treasure

The unwrapping of Jimmy Kent’s dressings felt more like the birth of Jesus bloody Christ. Servants chambers were barely equip to hold two people, let alone eight.

Thomas found himself forced into a corner of Jimmy’s room, between the wall and bureau, staring out onto the scene with silent vehemence. Dr. Clarkson and Nurse Dunne stood by Jimmy’s bedside, preparing a basin and a small set of tools. Thomas would’ve rathered Nurse Gallagher, personally- Miss Dunne had never been fond of the unnatural, and always suspected he were nancy, so never gave him the time of day.

“My Lady, you should not be forced to look upon this,” Carson said, voice strained. And yet there Lady Mary stood, stubbornly beside Matthew, on the Jimmy’s other side. That’s where Thomas should be standing but by rank he was the least important person in the room- despite being the closest to Jimmy himself- and therefore, was delegated to the back corner.

“No, Carson. I must be here,” Lady Mary insisted, glancing to Matthew for support. Thomas could see the fear in her eyes all the same. “I saw quite my share while Downton served as a convalescent home.”

“Yes, but that was _after_ the blood and guts had been attended to,” Dr Clarkson sighed a reminder, washing his hands before making eye contact with the nurse, nodding.

“I wouldn’t argue, if I were you,” Matthew intoned, unaware of the verbal low blow that it dealt to Thomas. If Matthew hadn’t been so easily persuaded, Jimmy wouldn’t have been destined to a life deformed. Thomas had to close his eyes and stifle a shaky breath at the very thought.

Apparently, Carson’s chivalrous ways weren’t done. “Similarly, Mrs. Hughes, I do not believe this is a sight--”

“As this concerns one of our staff members, I am quite certain I can stomach it, Mr. Carson. _Thank you_ ,” Mrs. Hughes was quick to shut him up, earning a suppressed smirk from Lady Mary. Thomas did not see the humour in the situation at all.

Dr. Clarkson worked with a deft touch, slowly removing the outer dressings from Jimmy’s head. He had become much more adept with practice after the war. Edward and the other poor soldiers hadn’t been so fortunate. Underneath the dressing was a tightly wrapped gauze that not even Thomas had been allowed to see beneath. Carefully, Dr. Clarkson cut away the remaining gauze with scissors, while Nurse Dunne pat Jimmy’s head with warm water to allow it to peel away easily.

Jimmy had his teeth grit during the entire process, despite being given a small dosage of opium to calm his nerves. Thomas had to remind himself to breathe as they all got a glimpse of Jimmy’s new face for the first time. Lady Mary gasped audibly and turned her head into Matthew’s shoulder. Thomas grimaced at that- he was sure Jimmy would’ve been able to hear it and it hadn’t been a terribly affirming sound.

“ _My,_ ” Mrs. Hughes breathed.

If Thomas had to be honest… it wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. It was certainly not good by any standard but the shrapnel seemed to have only struck around Jimmy’s left side. His face was bruised and blown up, but that would heal, and Dr. Clarkson had done some of his best work cleaning up the wound. They would heal cleanly. It was completely different to Edward, who had been burned and the skin permanently disfigured.

“Bloody hell!” Jimmy suddenly startled in bed, which made the whole room, including Thomas, jump in fright.

“Can you see me, James?” Dr. Clarkson asked, hopeful.

“I-I can! _Oh_. It ain’t much but.. but it’s somethin’” Jimmy said, voice fragile. His blue eye glanced through it’s inflamed view like he was seeing the world for the first time.

“And that will improve, dear lad,” Dr. Clarkson nodded with a pleased smile.

“Well done, James!” Lady Mary cheered, and Matthew hummed in agreement.

Thomas felt his jaw clench at the celebration, prematurely distracted as Carson leaned to Mrs. Hughes ear. He whispered, lowly, (but not lot enough for Thomas not to hear), “What a relief, we won’t have to put out that advertisement for a new footman.”

Mrs. Hughes was not impressed by the comment and neither was Thomas, who had to grip a handle on the bureau to calm the flash of red he saw.

“Thomas,” Dr. Clarkson said, and Thomas pulled himself from the daydream of punching Carson in the nose, standing to attention. 

“Yes, Dr. Clarkson.”

“As you have medical training and experience with eye rehabilitation, I shall leave you in charge of James. I would like detailed written reports of his recovery during the days, and I shall be around this time next week for a check-up,” Dr. Clarkson said, moving around the bedside to talk to Thomas directly. “Once I am back at the hospital, I shall schedule an appointment in a month for James’ first glass eye fitting. However, for it, he will need to go to London for the day, and most certainly with an escort. Until that day, we need to get him up and moving. I trust you can assist?”

“Yes, Dr. Clarkson.” Thomas controlled his breathing. _This is the man who killed Edward. Don’t think about it, damn you._

“Very good.” The doctor turned back to address the room, ”Now, show’s over. You all may go back to your daily routines. I do have a few more tests I need to run but know that James should recover with haste if his wounds are tended to correctly.”

“Will I be able to go back to work soon?” Jimmy asked, still a little loopy, and Thomas was half-shocked the words hadn’t come from Carson’s mouth.

“I certainly think so, yes. Depending on the speed of your recovery, and adjusting lack of depth perception... four to five weeks? Three at the absolute earliest,” Dr. Clarkson answered. He looked deliberately to Mrs. Hughes, “You must make sure he doesn’t overexert himself.”

“I’d like to be back as soon as possible,” Jimmy said stubbornly. Carson, momentarily offended Dr. Clarkson hadn’t ensured Jimmy’s welfare with him, seemed pleasantly surprised by the statement.

 _Probably thinks he’s been a good influence on him,_ Thomas rolled his eyes.

“When you’re able, James,” Mrs. Hughes sighed, having caught Carson’s expression. “You just focus on getting better.”


	7. Take the Lead

Thomas was scheduled to visit Jimmy after luncheon duties for his first walk up and down the bachelor’s corridor. As he reached the threshold of Jimmy’s room, Thomas felt a wave of emotion seize his muscles.

He wondered how Jimmy had been faring since discovering he wasn’t completely blind. How he desperately hoped it meant that Jimmy’s night terrors would come to an end, as Thomas wasn’t sure how many more nights he could be woken up by Jimmy’s strangled sobs. It seemed to affect the entire men’s hall, with Alfred and even Bates sporting deep bags under their eyes at breakfast.

Thomas let out a long, controlled breath, then raised his hand, knocking softly before pushing the door open. Jimmy was sitting on the side of his cot in his bedclothes, hunched over, staring at the floorboards. It was an unnerving sight. He looked as if he’d been in the position for hours.

Thomas had never seen Jimmy so drained of confidence or life.

“This is miserable,” Jimmy simply said, and Thomas was shocked that he was aware someone had entered the room at all. It seemed Dr. Clarkson had put an eyepatch over the bad eye, and now Jimmy looked a little more like a pirate than he did before.

“How’s your sight?” Thomas asked, and when Jimmy looked to him, it took everything he could not to crease his eyebrows with pity at the eyepatch. He could never pity Jimmy. He mustn't. Jimmy’d despise him if he did.

“Rubbish,” Jimmy said, “Like lookin’ through frosted glass.”

“It will improve,” Thomas assured. He'd seen men come back from worse at the Crawley Hospital. “Would you like to try walking now?”

“Not particularly,” Jimmy sulked, “Bad enough as it is just sittin’ upright.”

Thomas moved into the room, and held out his ungloved hand. “Don’t be a sook,” he teased. “Three times up n’ down the hall, doctor’s orders, and then I’ll give you one of me cigarettes. _Capiche_?”

“ _Kah_ -what now?”

Clearly, the language he’d picked up from America wasn’t connecting. “Nevermind,” Thomas sighed, then frowned when Jimmy didn't probe for the meaning. This was awful. Thomas just wanted his Jimmy back. “Come on,” he tried again, jigging his hand invitingly.

Jimmy said nothing but slid his hand into Thomas’ palm. Thomas eyes involuntarily fluttered shut. That was Jimmy's skin, impossibly soft, burning against his. Hoping he hadn't registered the dubious hesitation, Thomas quickly tugged on the hand to pull Jimmy to a stand.

“ _Argh_ , steady on, Thomas,” Jimmy grimaced, his hand sharply tightening, the skin now scalding against Thomas’. “I thought you said you’d done this before.”

“Sorry Jimmy,” Thomas muttered out, mentally kicking himself. He couldn’t let himself get caught up in fantasies of Jimmy like this. Not now. Not when he was _allowed_ to touch him so intimately. “Grab hold of me in whichever way is comfortable. Th-that’s it-” Thomas swallowed hard, not expecting the comfortable hand-hold to be his waist. Thomas wrapped his own arm around Jimmy’s back, propping him up under the armpit, and Jimmy reached back to grip Thomas’ wrist.

It was hilariously awkward, but with Jimmy’s touch- achingly hot through his vest- Thomas daren’t reposition them. Lord knows he’d need a cigarette after this experience.

They slowly made it out of Jimmy’s room and turned into the corridor, which thankfully devoid of other life, or else they’d see the sweat on Thomas’ brow. Together, they begun the journey to the stairwell at the end of the hall. At Jimmy’s snail’s pace, the hallway seemed ten times longer than it usually was- not that Thomas was complaining.

As they passed Bates' door, Jimmy leaned against Thomas, groaning lightly, and Thomas tilt his neck to close his eyes, unsure whether to thank or curse god.

“ _Bloody-_ ” Jimmy breathed, and- _good lord-_ his hand slid down to Thomas’ hip. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can,” Thomas said through grit teeth. He looked down, noting Jimmy’s pale face, and his golden hair spilling over his forehead. “Here-”

Thomas gingerly moved Jimmy’s hand over his shoulders, and as he went to let go, Jimmy held on tight, their fingers practically locked together. _Oh, god, don’t think about his gorgeous soft hands. Don’t think about him draped over you like this. Why isn’t he letting go of my hand? Isn’t he disgusted he has to walk up and down the hall with me and not Ivy?_ He steeled himself, and bent his knees to compensate for the height difference, not wanting to overextend Jimmy’s shoulder. _Pretend it’s the war again_ , Thomas begged silently. _Just another soldier to help back to the tents. It’s not Jimmy. One foot in front of the other. Be professional, you pathetic-_

Jimmy’s other hand suddenly gripped onto Thomas’ vest as if he had thought he were falling, the fabric pulling taut. Thomas turned, alarmed, and regretted flanking Jimmy’s right for the walk, as Jimmy had to turn his head fully to see with his one good eye. Their noses came within an inch of each other and Thomas blushed profusely. He'd never been this close to Jimmy, and he could see now his dreams didn't do the shade of Jimmy's eyes justice. Curiously, Jimmy was staring right back at him- not pulling away- one swollen eye squinted, expression painfully genuine.

“ _Jimmy_ ,” Thomas could barely hear over the pulse in his ears, and in-took a long gulp of air, his exhale far shakier than he would’ve liked. The flat of Jimmy’s hand pressed against Thomas' stomach- over his navel- bringing them both to a halt. Jimmy’s hand slipped downward a bit from exhaustion, and Thomas’ heart lurched.

Yes, Thomas was bloody aroused, wasn’t he?! Because he wasn’t a good friend. Not at all. He was a terrible person who couldn’t control his urges, and- _god_ \- if Jimmy’s hand explored any further south that would be the end of their friendship, make no mistake.

“Thomas, I can’t,” Jimmy bit out, apparently none the wiser to Thomas’ condition due to the state of agony he was in, and Thomas felt guilty all over again. “I’m bloody useless. I’m aching all over. Shite, I _hate_ this.”

“You’ll improve,” Thomas urged, feeling like a broken record, and took more of Jimmy’s weight. Heaven forbid, the man was a shell of his former self. It was like Jimmy had given up. If Thomas wasn’t so paranoid about the hard-on threatening to jut out of his pants, he may have indulged in Jimmy’s gloom. “You will.”

“And what?” Jimmy groaned, deflating even more. “What use will I be? I’ll be hideous. A monster.”

“You’re smart,” Thomas said without thinking. “You’ve got your brain, Jimmy. Your wonderful brain.”

Jimmy turned to stare up at him, aghast- beautiful lips shivering, as if he were on the verge of tears. “My _what_?” he hoarsed. Thomas couldn't tell if Jimmy was flattered of offended.

 _Oh, bollocks_. Why did he say that? Why did he go and bloody say that? Thomas was about to backtrack but Jimmy let out a sharp hiss, knees buckling as he fully collapsed. Thomas had to ground his foot back to catch all his weight. They were so close now, so impossibly close, Thomas could not ignore it...

“You alright?” Thomas panicked.

“‘m so weak. I can’t stand, Thomas,” Jimmy barely managed.

“Excuse me,” Thomas apologised, then hooked Jimmy under the knees to hoist him up. As he was carried, Jimmy’s head sunk onto Thomas shoulder, their chests flush, and Thomas could feel, even through the many layers of fabric, Jimmy’s pulse hammering away.

 _He’s in pain. He’s in shock_. Thomas thought sternly. He shouldn’t search for the deeper meaning. He _couldn’t._

It was only when Thomas lowered Jimmy back into his cot that it occurred to him. He’d just carried Jimmy to bed as if they were newlyweds on their honeymoon. Well now his erection throbbed at _that_ impossible fantasy. The thought of him and Jimmy. Married. Eternally bound.

For better for worse.

“I’m sorry Thomas,” Jimmy said, turning away on the pillow, but Thomas couldn’t for the life of him understand why he was apologising. Even now- half his face obscured, the other half swollen and bruised- he was still the most beautiful man Thomas had ever come across in his life. Truly the most radiant light.

“Shall I have a tray brought up?” Thomas said, at a complete loss of anything else to form into words, the inarticulate oaf.

“What’s the use,” Jimmy moaned, ”Just let me starve and hopefully I’ll rot away in peace.”

“You mustn't talk like that,” Thomas said, “You’ll put Carson in cardiac arrest. Then I’ll have to somehow manage the company of twats in this godforsaken circus of a house.”

“Thought you’d like that,” Jimmy snorted with mirth, and lord knows Thomas had missed having someone around who was as horrible as he. Then he hissed and hugged his middle. “ _Ow_. Even laughing hurts.”

“Get your energy up. We’ll try walking again tomorrow.” Beyond desperate to get out of there, Thomas quickly helped Jimmy’s bedsheets over him, then made for the door.

“Will you be back later to read the paper?” Jimmy asked, his voice strained, probably from exhaustion.

Thomas’ cheeks felt hot, his grip tightening on the door handle. “If you’ll have me,” he said quietly.

“Do,” Jimmy insisted, already drifting off to sleep.

Thomas nodded redundantly, and shut the door. Instead of going downstairs to instruct Mrs. Patmore to prepare a tray, he strode quickly across the hall into his own room, practically collapsing inside once his door was firmly closed and locked. Thomas didn’t even make it to the cot, falling to his knees and burying his forehead against the mattress as his fingers fumbled with the clasp on his pants. His hand dove into his undergarments to take hold of himself, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut.

 _I am weak. Nothing. A weak_ pathetic _man._

Witnessing Jimmy in such a fragile state… Lord preserve him, they’d been thigh to thigh, chest to chest, sweat on his golden brow, hearts pounding together. A little moan with every step. Of course, those moans had been from the agony Jimmy was in but just as themselves, it could be so easily mistook for drunken lust. Jimmy was beneath him now- Jimmy with both his eyes in tact- arms over his head, clasped tight to the frame of the cot, mouth slack, limbs slowly going limp with desire, making _those_ sounds as Thomas pound into him over and over and-

Groaning lowly, Thomas hated himself as he tugged harder to oblivion.

“Oh, _Jimmy_ ,” he whined, muffled into the bedsheets, as Thomas allowed himself to come completely undone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wipes sweat from brow*


End file.
